


The Tent

by Sneery69



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, First Time, Halloween, M/M, Witches, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 18:56:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5138885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneery69/pseuds/Sneery69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam hates clowns, but not as much as Dean hates witches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tent

„There’s something fishy about that tent.“

Sam rolled his eyes, dodging two clowns that chased a horde of rabbits through the crowd. “Gods, I hate clowns. And you only say that because the tent is pink.”

Dean was about to elaborate on how the color had nothing to do with the general fishiness of anything when he spotted Cas trying to shoulder through a couple of elderly women to get to them. He was pretty sure one of the grannies actually tried to pinch Cas’ butt while hiding her move behind a suspiciously large purse.

When Cas reached them, he looked only slightly more disheveled than usual. “Dean, Sam. I must have lost you during the children’s dance. I think there’s something wrong with that tent over there. A witch.”

Dean sent his brother a triumphant smirk, but Sam was too busy avoiding another round of clowns. It definitely looked like they were out to get him this time.

“I was actually just telling Sammy over here that I thought it was suspicious. So, what’s the plan? Any idea what she might have done to the victims?”

Cas frowned, then grasped Dean’s hand like it wasn’t an incredibly, well, _presumptuous_ gesture and started to drag him along. Dean should be used to Cas’ personal space issues by now, after almost one year of living with him in the bunker, but he kind of really wasn’t.

“You’re blushing,” Sam informed him, casually handing a bunny to one of the clowns following them, apparently trying to appease him somehow while only looking slightly terrified around the eyes. Cas was trying to lead them both towards a more secluded part of the Halloween feast. Holding Dean’s hand made sense because of the crowd, of course. So as not to lose them. Him. Whatever. 

“I’m not blushing. Why would I…,” Dean lost the thought when Cas’ fingers circled his wrist tighter, his thumb coming to rest right against his pulse point.  
Sam looked smug, one eyebrow way further up his forehead than completely necessary. 

Dean already missed the clowns.

Eventually, Cas slowed down when they were behind the last trailers of the festival, surveying their surroundings with a critical eye. Finally, he nodded, his fingers letting go of Dean at last.

“As I was trying to say, one of us needs to go into the tent and let her predict their future. My guess is that she lures people in with tempting promises and then kills them, probably using some kind of blood magic…”

Dean groaned. He hated witches. 

“Okay, since I assume nobody will volunteer,” a quick glance around assured him he was right about that, “I suggest we draw sticks. Sam?”

___

Of course it was Dean who drew the shortest stick. Of-fucking-course. At least Cas was looking worriedly between the tent and him, apparently not at all happy with the proceedings. Before Dean could dwell on how that made him feel, he quickly got Ruby’s knife from Sam, then purposefully started towards the Pink Horror, as he decided to call it. Cas and Sam would try to stay as close to him as possible, obviously. Not that Dean was worried about a single witch.

(Except that things usually went horribly pear-shaped as soon as one was involved, but he was trying to think positive.)

___

She was strong. Dean could feel it the moment her eyes locked with his, and there was something like a shiver running down his back, like she knew things about him that he wasn’t even aware of, like she looked right into his soul.

“Hunter,” she greeted him, her fine, manicured fingers pushing black strands of hair out of her strangely young face. “I did wonder when one of you would show up.”

Dean knew he didn’t need to try and pretend, and just drew the knife out of his sleeve.

“How did you kill them?” he demanded, voice calm and hard, but not moving yet.

The witch started to shuffle a stack of cards she drew seemingly out of nowhere, not looking away from him even for a moment. “I didn’t. It’s not me you’re looking for. Take a seat.”

For reasons completely out of his reach, Dean did as he was told. “What do you mean? You are a witch, are you not?”

She smiled, but it was more creepy than reassuring. “Just a simple fortuneteller. I amuse people and myself on markets like these. I’ve never done harm to anyone. Well, except for my ex-husband, but that’s not why you’re here.”

Dean didn’t bother denying it.

“You’re looking for a wendigo. I don’t know where it has its lair, and even if I knew, I wouldn’t have gone after it alone. You’re on your own with that.”

Dean nodded his acceptance, somehow knowing she was telling the truth. A wendigo made more sense than some kind of blood ritual, now that he thought about it. Actually, he wasn’t sure how he ever got the notion it might be a witch. The thought hadn’t even fully formed when he realized she must have tricked them somehow.

All the while, she watched him closely, and finally began to laugh. “Just a bit of a glamour on top of a horrible colour. Knew it would attract hunters sooner or later, so I thought I’d play a bit. Now you, though…that’s a nice little surprise.”

The witch grinned at Dean, obviously deeply amused. Dean felt like he should be outraged, but he sat calm and relaxed. Probably another one of her tricks. When he thought about it - he _had_ noticed a strange kind of smell right after entering the tent.

“I will tell you The Truth, Dean Winchester, and you will listen to me.”

Her voice was deep, too deep for a human, with too many layers. Dean felt another shiver creep down his neck. With every card she then lay down, something resonated in the air, like single sources of power connecting with each other to form a big, dark pool of magic.

Dean hated the feeling with everything he had, yet he somehow couldn’t avert his gaze from her sure, quick hands.

When the first card was turned around, Dean sucked in a breath he didn’t know he needed. It read “The Fool”. 

After a drawn-out moment, Dean finally snorted.

“Ah, one of my favourite cards, right at the beginning. How intriguing.” 

She didn’t elaborate, and Dean was glad. 

However, when she turned around the next card, reading “The Hermit”, she did seem surprised. She mumbled something, frowning at the little picture like it was speaking to her.

“Well. I guess. Yes.” She nodded, then finally looked at Dean, her eyes pools of liquid silver.

“I have some advice here for you, Hunter. Are you ready to hear it?”

Dean sighed, wishing he had just send Sam to deal with this. “I guess?”

There was no expression on her face when she next opened her mouth. “You tried to do the right thing, but you failed. The reason that you failed lies within your assumption that Sacrifice answers for everything. You punish yourself to treat others. It is not necessary. It never was, and it never will be.”

Dean didn’t reply. He found nothing he could possibly say to that.

She kept on turning cards like nothing happened, her eyes once again a normal, sedate blue.

“Well. You would be the Major Arcana type – I’m not even surprised. The Hanged Man in the middle. Sometimes the cards have quite the sense of humor, you see.”

Dean didn’t see at all, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. His head was still reeling from whatever just happened, anyway.

“It’s simple. Yes or No, Dean. That’s the question.”

Dean frowned at her. After the heavy mood from the last card, he thought she’d go all mysterious on this one, too. “Yes or No?”

She shrugged, pointing at the next open card, “The Lovers.” 

“He desperately wants you to say Yes, but doesn’t want to push you into something that might not be freely given. You probably know who I am speaking of, even though I have to admit I have no clue on this one.”

She seemed unconcerned, already toying with the edge of her last card.

“ _He_?” Dean stuttered, purposefully focusing on the least important thing so that he didn’t have to actually think about it.

The witch only rolled her eyes, however. “Can we finish? This is more draining than I thought it would be, and I really need my afternoon dose of caffeine.”

Dean leaned back in his chair, hoping he wasn’t as red in the face as he feared. “Right. Of course. Whatever.”

The last card she had lying before her read “The Tower” and looked very menacing. The witch, however, groaned in exasperation. 

“Oh my God, honestly? I was waiting for something profound! Something mysterious! And you give me The Tower?” She seemed to talk to the ceiling of her tent, her face scrunched into something akin to a youthful temper tantrum.

“I can’t believe this. You think this is a joke?” 

She seemed to remember she wasn’t alone after a small pause, in which Dean hoped very very much she didn’t actually hear someone reply.

“Oh. Right. You’re supposed to have gay sex. Good luck. And now out, I have some arguments to win!”

She stood up, taller than Dean would have expected her to be, and made shooing motions at him that once again set off a confusing wave of scents. Before Dean really knew what was happening, he was outside the tent and next to Cas.

___

“So what you’re trying to tell me is that she told you your future for a solid forty minutes?”

Sam’s tone made it very clear what he thought of that story. “Dean, we couldn’t get in, no matter what we tried. Cas was two seconds from using the last bit of his Grace. He was panicking.”

Dean looked over to Cas, who was resolutely staring out of the window of the small Café they had fled to. He hadn’t so much as twitched since Dean had begun to tell his story. Well, he obviously was omitting the embarrassing stuff, like …almost all of it. He quickly looked back to Sam.

“Well, yeah. But in the end she told us that it’s a Wendigo, right? So it wasn’t for nothing. And she didn’t hurt me.”

“But she could have,” Cas suddenly growled. Dean tried not to be affected.

“She was so powerful she could keep us out AND vanish herself and the tent afterwards. She could have killed you. I wouldn’t have been quick enough.” Cas’ voice broke at the end, something that was strangely unbearable to Dean.

Before he could quite think it through, he had reached out, hesitantly touching Cas’ hand under the table next to him.

“But she didn’t. And…she did give me some valuable…advice.”

Cas eyes whipped first to their hands, making Dean’s fingers twitch with the need to pull away, and then up to Dean’s face, letting him forget the impulse immediately. Nobody was watching them anyway. Well, except for Sam, who seemed to have trouble breathing through his sudden cough.

“Dean.”

It was one of these moments again. Dean knew that, knew that it happened regularly between them now, and yet...

“What did she tell you?”

There was something like fear in Cas’ eyes, and something like hope. And even though Dean understood now, he still felt very, very afraid.

“I’m going to hunt down that Wendigo,” Sam suddenly announced quite loudly. Neither Dean nor Cas managed to react.

“Right. Don’t mind me. It’s not that I need help or anything. You know, I think I will call Jody. She should be close, anyway. In the meantime…Oh my God, you aren’t even listening.”

Dean jerked back from a suddenly very close Cas like he got burned. Guiltily, he turned to Sam, half getting up already.

“Um. Uh. Of course, we’re coming, I mean, we need to…”

But Sam didn’t seem angry. Well, his face didn’t seem angry. His rant had certainly sounded annoyed, at least. Right now, though, he was smiling. 

“Don’t bother. Jody will come gladly, we wanted to meet up anyway. Why don’t you both go back to the hotel and…talk.”

Dean fell back against the cushions. Cas squeezed his hand under the table. “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam waved it away, actually winking at them. “You go, Cas. Don’t let him get out of it.” And with that, Sam was suddenly gone.

___

To say that the ride home was awkward would be an understatement. Dean felt jittery and close to a panic attack. In his mind, he saw all the ways he might have interpreted everything wrong, how Cas might let him down gently or with barely concealed disgust, how he might frown or turn away…

Another side of him worried about Sam, felt guilty that he had left him alone with the Wendigo. But the voice of the witch rang in his ear, telling him about sacrifices and happiness, and it strangely made him feel a bit less awful. And Sam had Jody, after all. Donna too, probably. It would be alright.

“It will be alright,” Cas echoed his thoughts quietly, edging a bit closer in the passenger seat. 

“Yeah,” Dean replied, voice hoarse. 

“Sam sent a message. They’re four, apparently. Donna brought her new husband along. He’s a seasoned hunter.”

Dean breathed deeply. That was good. That was more than good. But that also meant he needed to tackle that other thing now.

"Cas, I…”

But Cas interrupted him somewhat too quickly. “We’re almost at the hotel, Dean.”

“Right.”

___

In the end, it was easy. Dean didn’t need to say anything, only pull Cas towards him as soon as the door closed with a very definite click.

The hug was intimate yet innocent. Dean inhaled the scent of Cas, clean and brisk like spring, and Cas clung to him like he couldn’t believe that Dean was actually there.

“I need you,” Cas finally whispered into Dean’s neck, and it sounded like a confession that he had wanted to make for a long time. Dean just pressed him closer, couldn’t deny the deep joy the words inspired in him.

“Cas. I…I’m really bad at talking.”

Cas moved a bit, his lips now on Dean’s cheeks instead of his neck, breath hot against Dean’s skin. “I have realized that.”

“Yeah, well. I’d like…I want…” 

"Yes." 

It was surprising how little Cas seemed to know about kissing, but Dean didn’t care. Hell, he bathed in the knowledge that Cas obviously hadn’t done this a lot, that he might get to teach him. For now though, he didn’t really think, only enjoyed chapped lips under his and the slight resistance of Cas’ body where they were pressing close.

They only stopped for a moment, in which Cas insisted they move to the couch. Dean protested all the way until Cas shut him up by pushing him down, suddenly making Dean feel incredibly, intensely horny. 

“Tell me what you like,” Cas breathed, already starting to work Dean’s jeans down his hips. Dean tried not to moan.

“I…you. I want to see you.” 

Cas finished undressing Dean first, obviously enjoying his task very much. Dean wasn’t prone to blushing, though, and quietly swore to himself to get a fucking grip. (He was probably beet-red.)

When Cas started to work on his own clothes slowly and deliberately, all thoughts fled Dean’s brain in a rush. 

Oh, but how Dean had wanted. 

It didn’t even register that he was about to sleep with a man for the first time in his - to this point - very heterosexual life until Cas’ cock was about two inches from his mouth.

Cas, when seeing Dean hesitate, sank down beside him, expression worried and a bit hurt. “Dean? I don’t want to pressure you into…”

Dean quickly shut him up with a kiss, letting the heat of it consume him to the point where the panic was receding to the very back of his mind. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine. C’mere.”

They fell again towards the couch, and somehow, Dean ended up under Cas despite his best efforts. Cas only smiled down at him mischievously, and then – oh – began to move.

It was over embarrassingly quickly, but Dean couldn’t quite wrap his head around the new feeling of a …a man against him, all the hard angles and …appendages, and the newness of it all let his libido quickly spiral out of control. If it hadn’t been Cas above him, Dean would have been insanely embarrassed. As it was, though, he got to watch his angel fall apart into a mess of breathy moans with a half-way clear head, and it was every bit as exciting as Dean had imagined it to be. (He guessed it didn’t make sense to deny that particular fantasy to himself anymore, now.)

__

Later, when Sam returned with their friends and Donna’s new partner, Dean somehow couldn’t seem to stop smiling. Cas was lively and chatty like he rarely ever was, and Sam seemed torn between abject horror and benevolence towards their behavior.

“Tell me you didn’t do it on the couch!” he hissed way too loudly when Dean and him got beers for everyone out of the kitchen.

Dean wanted desperately to be snarky, but all he could get out was an embarrassed cough, accompanied with a scandalized, “Sammy!”

Sam’s mouth twitched for a moment, but in the end he settled for a slightly awkward pat on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m…uh. Happy. For you two, that is. Just…please keep the noises to a minimum. And the flirting, too. Oh, and the thing you do when you think the other one isn’t looking, like the soulful staring at one another. Oh and that other thing when…”

“I got it, Christ!” Dean threw his hands up in horrified resignation, just wanting to make his brother stop talking. Then, just before fleeing the kitchen with a couple of quickly grabbed beer bottles in hand, he hesitated for a moment. Quietly, he muttered, “I won’t fuck up this time. I promise.”


End file.
